


The Colours of Healing

by AngelsAvengeMe



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Heart-to-Heart, Introspection, Mentions of Harm to a Child, Post-Battle, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Teamwork, Tony Stark Flirts, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23950342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsAvengeMe/pseuds/AngelsAvengeMe
Summary: After a rough attack on the city, Steve has trouble coming to terms with what he let happen. Tony does his best to help him see the truth.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	The Colours of Healing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sagamohr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagamohr/gifts).



> TAG NOTES: I just wanted potential readers to be aware that there is mention of a (non-canon) child who gets hurt and is hospitalized as a result. It's only touched upon afterward and there's no detail about what actually happened or the injury itself. 
> 
> Also, I tagged this as pre-Steve/Tony (b/c I'm a stony shipper at heart lol) but it can be read as them just being friends :)
> 
>   
> \----
> 
> For the amazing and lovely and best BFF Sagamohr 💕 who wanted a fic based off of this Tumblr post: https://amuseoffyre.tumblr.com/post/102344305090/accioharo-you-are-like-25-omg-yknow-what 
> 
> Hopefully I did it some justice ^^''

His fingers were stained a burnt umber. It was even under his fingernails and deep into his nail beds. He’d tried scratching it off, tried dragging his palms against his thighs until his skin smarted. Still, it clung, a morbid reminder of his failures.

Who was he to call himself Captain America? A man who let—

He swallowed hard, a sudden lump forming in his throat. Instead, it grew, forcing him to suck in a sharp breath as he clawed at the suffocating collar of his garishly blue uniform. No. Not his uniform, not anymore, not since Loki attacked New York. Whatever this thing he was wearing now was, it didn’t represent Steve Rogers _or_ Captain America. It was… it was _Captain Showreel_. A circus performer. All vapid celebrity and no hardened veteran. A Leading Man with no accomplishments to back his bravado up.

Someone who let little kids get hurt because they were too inept to do their job.

Someone… someone like him.

A sudden ripping jolted him back to himself. A large tear now swooped from the front of the collar to under his right pectoral.

Great.

He shoved down the top portion, so it pooled around his waist. Now, if only he could get the rest of it off and get into the shower. Wash away the blood and grit, maybe he could claw himself out of this loop. If only the rest of him would cooperate.

“You okay, Cap?”

He jumped as a calloused hand landed on his shoulder.

Tony. It was just Tony.

Clearing his throat, he nodded, ripping his unseeing gaze from the void to meet the other’s eyes. A stunning cognac colour that was easy to get lost in.

“I’m fine.” He winced. That didn’t even sound believable to his own ears.

Nonplussed, Tony flopped down on to the bed next to him and stretched like he was more cat than human. 

“Surprised you’re not at the gym abusing my poor punching bags. What happened to all that pent-up energy you claimed to have after avenging the world?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it today, I guess.”

Tony scoffed.

Yeah, it didn’t make sense to him either.

“Why’re you here?”

With a raised eyebrow, Tony sat back up, resting his weight against his palms.

Steve blushed. “Sorry, that was rude.” He took a steadying breath. “You normally don’t make house calls is all.”

“Wanted to let you know your real uniform’s finally all fixed up. Good timing too,” he said, poking at the rip.

He nodded and found himself looking back at his hands again. His index fingernail was jagged. A minuscule piece of cobalt fluff stuck to one of the peaks.

“Steve?” It wasn’t until Tony had spoken that he realized how long they’d both been quiet. The setting sun was casting long shadows across the now plum-tinted room.

“Sorry.”

Tony sighed.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.”

“You sure ‘bout that?”

He nodded. Somewhere, deep down in the black well of emptiness inside, he knew.

Didn’t he?

“Sometimes things don’t go the Captain America way. We still gotta pick ourselves up.”

He shot off his bed, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt. His whole body pulsed and burned like his skin was too tight for the mess underneath.

“You think _I_ don’t know that, Tony?”

His hands shot up in surrender. “Don’t get your American flag panties in a twist, Cap. I just meant we can’t dwell on the things we can’t change.” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders slumping. He suddenly looked 20 years older, like all they’d been through had finally caught up with him in an instant. Steve’s gut cramped painfully at the thought. He never wanted Tony to feel that kind of crushing weight. Not ever.

“Sometimes shit hits the fan—hard—but we gotta keep going, Steve. Giving up means we let them win and I really, _really_ do not want them to win.”

They locked eyes. Tony’s gaze was unwavering, but Steve could still see the ghosts of past—or maybe current—battles dancing within, fighting to break free.

He slumped back down next to Tony.

“A kid got hurt. It… happens, even if we’d give everything for it not to have.” The heaviness of the words as they passed his lips made Steve think there was more there, a deeper story of his own regret that he had to fight his way out of from time to time. “It’s not your fault, Steve. But, if you wanna be adamant about it, then it’s ours too, so at least let us shoulder some of it.”

“Tony, no—”

He shook his head. “We’re a team, Rogers. We’re in this together. If it’s your fault, it’s all of ours too. And I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to not take the blame for something that was some Machiavellian asshat’s fault.”

Now it was his turn to shake his head. “You guys weren’t play-acting as some… some fake hero though. I was.” He put his head in his hands. His mind was spinning, now no more than a blur of colourful emotions that smashed together, churning until they turned a murky grey. “I was showboating, Tony. If I hadn’t been, that poor kid wouldn’t have gotten hurt. He wouldn’t be lying in some hospital bed hooked up to those horrible machines.”

Tony laid a hand on the back of his neck, gently squeezing. He let out a breath, the feeling of it oddly comforting despite the rough callouses.

“I hate this uniform,” he whispered. “It lets me turn into something I don’t like. Something that’s the opposite of all I’ve worked for. All that I believe in.”

Tony stood. “We’ll just have to get rid of it then.”

He looked up. Tony had his hand out, ready to help him up.

“Huh?”

“I know a little something about uniforms weighing you down. Y’know, metaphorically speaking,” he said, a smile playing at his lips. Then, almost as if it had slipped out, he added: “Let me help you.”

He blinked, his gaze going from Tony’s eyes to his outstretched hand. There was a neon yellow band-aid on his ring finger with illustrated pictures of the Hulk on it. The edges were frayed a bit, a small dark streak of what looked like oil slashing across it. Tony truly was something else.

He took his hand.

“First, let’s get you into the shower; you reek like a subway elevator for some reason,” Tony said, pushing him toward the bathroom. “Second, I’m destroying this thing.” He poked at the torn fabric. “And not like, ‘oh ha ha I left it in a storage closet ‘cause I knew you’d change your mind one day’. No, I’m gonna, like, have nanobots eat it and then I’ll drop them into a vat of acid—ooo, no! I’ll make it into some of those fancy fireworks that explode into a million sparkly pieces that somehow end up making the American flag. It’s apt so it’s perfect so we’re doing it. I can even set up a camera and get that bad boy on 8k. Maybe submit it to one of those stock footage sites and we’ll see it in a Michael Bay movie next summer.”

The way Tony’s eyes lit up at the last part was a little worrying, but Steve couldn’t find it in himself to try and put a stop to it—not that trying to stop Tony when he had his mind set would work in his favour anyway.

After Tony pushed him into the bathroom, Steve turned face him, whatever he was about to say dying on his lips once he got a good look at him. Tony was smiling still, but it was smaller—softer—and tinged with something deep and hard to grasp.

“You’re a good man, Steve. I mean that,” he said softly, leaning against the doorframe. “And I know there’s nothing I can say to make this right—to make you realize this wasn’t your fault—but just know you don’t have to go through this alone. That I’ve got your back no matter what. We all do.”

“High praise.”

“Damn straight,” he said, arms now crossed, and brow raised. “I don’t just say that to anyone either, by the way. And I definitely don’t say that to people who purposefully let kids get hurt. Even if said person is hella ripped and is as fine as a vintage wine.”

He looked away, coughing into his hand as Tony winked.

“Meet you downstairs in 20 for a game of COD? Barton’s determined he’s gonna kick our asses this time.”

A laugh erupted from him before he realized what was happening. God, his life truly was ridiculous.

“Definitely can’t let that happen.”

A true grin brightened Tony’s face, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Don’t be late,” he said, pushing himself off the frame. “I can only take Barton’s smack-talk for so long.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Tony threw him a mock two finger salute before quietly closing the door behind him.

Steve half expected a cascading of ‘what ifs’ and ‘should’ves’ as soon as Tony was out of view, but none came. As he lay in bed later, he was sure he’d toss and turn, the thoughts relentless until exhaustion overtook him and dragged him into a black unconsciousness that twisted and churned into a kaleidoscope of his failures.

For now, though, he’d take all the good he could get, no matter how fleeting. He’d picked himself back up with less before, after all. This time he knew better though; he didn’t have to go it alone. He had a team again—friends—who could help him back to his feet and make sure he stayed steady on them. That there was enough of a reason to keep trying.

If not for himself yet, he could at least do it for them.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to join in on a new writing Discord server (for any fandom or just in general), lemme know and I'll send you a link! :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated 💕


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